


Forbidden Fruit

by fuckyeahlucifersupernatural



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Pomegranates, Samifer - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-06 15:33:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/737282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural/pseuds/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The forbidden fruit always tastes the sweetest when it’s given by the Devil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forbidden Fruit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [i-see-light](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=i-see-light).



> **Disclaimer:** This is fan-run and this writer is not officially affiliated with the CW Network, Kripke Enterprises, Warner Bros., and other official affiliates tied to the TV Show "Supernatural." This user does not claim ownership to the official content of Supernatural and does not seek profit off of the work produced presently. Plagiarism of this current story will not be tolerated and will be reported following AO3's terms of service. The stories, additional characters I create, are mine. This story was not created for profit. Making profit is deemed copyright infringement unless sanctioned by copyright holders (i.e. CW Network, Kripke Enterprises, Warner Bros., etc.). Copyright infringement can range from paying a fine to actual jail time. Please do not claim this story as yours! Please do not sell this story! Please do not reproduce this story! All violators will be reported and dealt with severely! 

The forbidden fruit always tastes the sweetest when it’s given by the Devil.

The smell of pomegranates is suffocating. Pushing its way into Sam’s lungs to where he could only exhale the fruit out. This is Lucifer’s idea. His little obsession. He’s fascinated with the seeds. The skin. The white insides. Murmured of the day where you could squeeze the seed into your mouth and knowledge came pouring out. How Eve had to dig her fingers and break into that forbidden fruit, her curiosity piqued and thirsty for what was being omitted from her. 

And here Sam shuddered and sat on the bed, covered in pomegranate juice and his arousal making it difficult to stay still or keep his hands to himself. Lucifer has his hands on his knees, letting Sam run a hand through his hair. The blond is bent low, running his tongue across the inseam of his thighs, where the juice has slid down. At first it was uncomfortable to feel juice slip down his frame and Sam had to shove his fist into his mouth when it was dripped onto his length, nearly coming from that alone if it wasn’t Lucifer firmly ordering him not to. 

The fallen archangel is teasing him -- torturing him. Kitten licking his way across his thighs, occasionally moving a hand to finger the slit of his length. Sam wants Lucifer to put his mouth back on him, to suck greedily the juice that covered sensitive flesh. It was fleeting and too soon, his hips quivering and panting into the dimness of the room. 

But Lucifer teases. Licks here and sucks there, fingers a cold aftermath that digs into his skin and draws intricate patterns across his stomach. The Devil worships him with his mouth. With his fingers. With the arctic breath that Sam swears will give him frostbite. Lucifer finally pulls back to observe him, licking his stained lips, blue eyes luminous in the poor lighting. 

Sam’s breathtaking. Sitting on the bed with this powerful physic, strong jaw, youthful and visually attractive frame. This here was his one true vessel and it’s difficult not to imagine being once more in control of a body that was pleasing to the eye. 

The Morning Star was beautiful once, but the fall from Heaven, creation of Hell and sitting in the Cage has mutilated his once breathtaking visage. He was ghastly now from the inside, not just the outside with his vessel eroding away. His true appearance is nothing but broken teeth, charred flesh, open wounds, broken blisters that pus, fragmented bones and frayed wings. That’s why he would cover Sam’s eyes when he felt his Grace overload his frame. Not just because of fear of Sam’s eyes burning out of his skull, but of that brief moment of Sam catching a glimpse of him. 

Sam, here, is his saving Grace. This idea that if the two are one than everything would return to how it once was. His Grace would recover and be whole, but for the time being -- where he knows that will not come to pass just yet -- he wants to share his affliction. It’s more out of comfort than malicious intent, because his body is wearing and tearing again. It’s but a matter of time before Nick spontaneously combusts, a difficult thousand pieced puzzle suddenly presented in patches of skin and guts. The novelty of wholeness and the potential of it keeps him resolute, however, keeps his own unstable self glued and patched by the seams.

Sam can’t discern from his skin the bruises from the dark juice that sinks and soaks into his skin. Both blend in with the other and both cause him discomfort when he moves, skin pulling where it’s been sticky and dry with pomegranate juice while the other is skin with buried, broken blood vessels. There are spots were Lucifer will clean with his tongue, dragging his tongue across certain patches of skin until it disappeared. He’d dip his fingers in the bowl of pomegranate juice and push his dripping fingers across his cheek, pushing more onto his cheekbones. It’s precise and focused, and Sam watches the look of intent on the archangel’s face. 

When they move down his neck, Sam turns his head to stare at the sliding mirrors that hid the closet. Sam sees Lucifer. Sees the mimicked peel of skin on his own in pomegranate juice, having left a wet trail down his cheek to his jawline. He should be mildly repulsed. Perhaps amused. Instead he feels...remorse. Lucifer was painting himself on Sam and it wasn’t done with a chuckle or laughing smirk, instead just quiet intent. 

Fingers danced and pushed across his skin, Sam turning his head to stare at the fallen archangel. Sam was the one who stopped it. Gripped his hand, pressed his soaked and stained fingers to his lips before kissing the pad of each finger. When each finger has been kissed, he threads his through Lucifer’s. Sinking back down, he pulls the blond with him, feeling lips crush against his as his back meets mattress. Sam doesn’t fight for control. He lets himself be moved, feeling his hands raised above his head, feeling that tongue push into his mouth and Lucifer tastes of ice and pomegranates. 

There’s desperation in the way he kisses. The possessive grip he uses on his wrists, and Sam knows he’ll be finding Lucifer’s handprint in shades of purple tomorrow morning. There’s a frustrated growl that’s trapped in the hollow of the archangel’s throat. He won’t fight this time. Won’t try to engage in the power struggle that comes when they’re under the sheets. They communicate through teeth and groans, spilled blood and nails leaving impressions on the skin in streaks or crescent moons. Sam can only guess what is going through Lucifer’s skull, but despite how close he has been with the archangel, he remains an enigma. All he can do is follow his lead at this moment, willing and supportive. 

Lucifer kisses him until Sam’s lips are swollen and there’s an ache in the left side of his jaw. His wrists throb when icy fingers release them, eyes watching the Devil sit up on his thighs. Cool fingers idly run across Sam’s jutting pelvic bone, dragging a lone finger across the trail of hair from Sam’s navel to his pubic hair. Sam shifts. Feet arching and a knee attempting to bend, eyes raptly watching Lucifer. When the fallen archangel finally runs his fingers across Sam’s length, thumb stroking the dripping head, Sam’s keening. Sam watches the blond swipe the thick beads of watered down white with his thumb. Popping it into his mouth to suck on, Sam moans, trying to rock his hips. 

_“Please.”_

Sam breathes it out. Begs. Opens his mouth to form words, but he cuts himself off with guttural sounds and sharp intakes of air. 

The archangel slides off of him, fingers grabbing at Sam’s side to push him onto his stomach. 

It’s spilled again. Pomegranate juice splashing onto his skin. Cooler than his hot flesh but warmer than Lucifer’s tongue. Sam feels a tongue drag across his back, lapping up the streaks of burnt and healthy red muddied together. It runs down his spinal cord until it hits the dip of his back, this miniature reservoir where juice collected. The archangel sucks on the heavy color, hands resting on his backside, Sam shifting restlessly underneath. A noise escapes him when there is a nose pressing into his backside, teeth skimming across flesh, leaving blunt pink streaks. 

Fingers are digging into the flesh of his backside, pushing him open and causing Sam to fidget. A strangled sound rushes out of his mouth when there’s a tongue running flat across his entrance. _Yes. Yes. Yes._ His hands fist into the sheets as he writhes at the consistent drags of an icy tongue against sensitive skin. 

Sam’s swearing. Fighting for coherency but filth leaves his mouth. Gripping and groping for support, sheets bunched in his hand and nearly drooling into the pillow. _Fuck. Please!_ There’s a tongue pushing in, fingers crawling further down to pull Sam apart, to ease that dangerously cold tongue into Sam. The hunter rocks back insistently, feeling Lucifer’s tongue push in deeper and it makes the hair on his skin stand to attention. The harsh contrast in temperature makes him greedily want more, feeling muscles contract and shudder. His thigh can’t stop shaking and he needs to touch himself. God, he needs someone to just touch him. Please! To just reach down and grip his erection firmly, giving harsh tugs and pulls until he’s spill across the bed. He needs Lucifer to press in deeper. It’s not nearly enough. Far from enough. 

It’s only when Lucifer is nudging his length into him does Sam praise him. Praises him with strangled sounds that come out as high-pitched whines and broken moans that stutter when Lucifer slams into him.

Sam groans into the pillow, feeling his erection rubbing against the sheets, the touch not nearly enough pressure. He wants to drop his hips so he can properly grind against it, but Lucifer’s hands keep his hips from sinking any lower. Sacrificing a hand, he weasels it down underneath him, practically mewling when his fingers just touches his arousal. Before he can wrap his fingers around himself, fingers dig brutally into his hips and teeth sink into his back, a startled sound leaving the Winchester.  
 Sam tries again and is reciprocated with the same response, huffing and whining in distress. He needs to touch himself. Needs someone -- something to touch him. _Please please please please please_ comes in ushered moans as Lucifer thrusts into him, before he’s sinking his teeth into the pillow. His groans become muffled, eyes squeezed shut and knuckles white. 

Sam’s toes clench, tearing his mouth from the pillow to give a hoarse cry. His peak hits him fast between the eyes, hips rising and trembling as he spills against his chest and the sheets underneath. Lucifer continues, pace brutal and making it impossible to hold himself up. Sam finds his face suddenly shoved into the pillow, giving a muffled sound of shock as his face is forced into the damp material.

Sucking in the air when the hand leaves him, Sam turns his head to stare at the spilt juice across the mattress. It’s pooled in certain areas and what was once white was certainly of no more. Sam turns over, feeling an ache becoming more known as he drags his eyes back to Lucifer. The blond is staring down at him, as if he was waiting for something to be said or something to suddenly occur. Sam almost expects Lucifer’s head to tilt to the right, making a tired chuckle leave his mouth.

The archangel suddenly mumbles about cleaning up, making a motion to grab something for Sam to wash up with, but Sam grips his knee to keep him in place. He shakes his head, “No. I want to keep this for a bit longer.” With a tired yawn he turns onto his side on the bed. Sam misses the small smile finding its way on the Devil. Lucifer lays beside him, wrapping an arm around him to push the hair off of Sam’s neck with his nose. There he leaves lazy, icy kisses on the back of Sam’s neck until the Winchester is fast asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> _Love it? Hate it? Tell me in a review!_


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